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devieuls · 1 day

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ˋ Haunted . ✺

Qimir x Ex Jedi Fem Reader < SERIES >

Warning of the Serie: MDNI. Sith Lord Qimir x Fem ex Jedi Reader.

(during the series)

SMUT: Dirty Talk; Bites; fingering; Blood; Spit; Jealousy and Possessiveness; Foreplay; violence; Swearing; Teasing; Unprotected Sex; betrayal; oral sex; dacryphilia; outdoor sex; jealousy BDSM. Dom Qimir ANGST: toxic relationship, self-harm, derealization, suffering, Requited / Unrequited love, prejudices, bullying and insults. There will be flashbacks in this series

Aged characters: Qimir 35 y.o / You 22 y.o.

Synopsis: In a twisted web of light and darkness, two opposites are facing each other, dancing on a thin thread called fate. What happens when light and darkness dance on a wire called destiny, two eternal opposites that inevitably attract each other and create something perfectly powerful and chaotic to unite the power of two in one? The answer emerges in a journey of tension and attraction, where yin and yang discover that their opposition is nothing but a reflection of a deep and unexpected connection. This is the story of how destruction is akin to peace, how the moon one day decided to save the sun, how darkness is not so dark and evil so bad. A journey towards change and desire, where opposing forces merge into a future that no one could have predicted.

(Following some events of the series)

Lenght: 8.3k

TW: THE SERIES WILL BE FULL OF DELICATE TOPICS!

⇠ Previous chapter ✵ Next Chapter ⇢

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⠀⠀Chapter VIII: Connections

The silence that followed was thick, almost tangible. Still sitting on him, your breaths mingled with his, but in your mind, everything had grown cold and distant, serene. When you pulled away from the kiss, resting your forehead against his, your eyes closed as if shielding yourself from what you felt, isolating your thoughts while the weight of your decision suffocated you. Qimir still held you, but he seemed to sense the growing distance between you.

His hands moved with an almost painful tenderness across your skin, caressing your cheek as if trying to hold onto you in that moment, pulling you back from your thoughts.

"You don’t have to do this" he whispered, his voice filled with sweetness and concern. He was trying to bring you back to him, into the present, into the world you two had built in that fleeting moment stolen from fate. But he already knew, deep down, that his words would carry little weight.

You swallowed, your eyes still closed, but you felt that void within you, a space that seemed impossible to fill. When you finally opened them, he saw something different. The light that once burned bright and fierce was now replaced by a darker, deeper shadow, fueled by a fire that even you seemed unable to fully control.

"I owe it to Mae." Your words were cold, filled with fierce determination. The name of your sister slipped from your lips like a vow, an unbreakable promise. And Qimir felt a shiver run down his spine. The pain you had kept hidden beneath layers of suppressed emotions had turned into pure resolve.

"You already know where this path will lead." His piercing gaze sought yours, as if trying to stop you from fully giving in to the darkness that was slowly taking hold, the same darkness he had once offered you to accept. He could sense your determination like an impenetrable wall, reminiscent of what he himself had experienced so many years ago, when he was a padawan and embraced the dark side.

You turned your face, firmly brushing his hand aside. Your gaze, unwavering and sharp as a blade, was now devoid of the sweetness you had offered him just moments before. Then you stood up, composed, a figure full of authority and resolve. Every movement was measured, almost cold, mirroring his.

“You can’t know that,” you retorted, your voice icy and devoid of emotion. “I’m no longer a Jedi; there’s no light or darkness left for me to follow” you declared in a cutting tone. Your gaze briefly shifted to the nexu, watching you both silently, almost entranced by your interaction. “You said it yourself. I am who I am, and I choose me.” Those words, so final and distant, sounded like a sentence as you turned and began walking toward the ship’s corridor, moving away from him.

Qimir watched you as you distanced yourself, lowering his gaze in frustration. A long sigh escaped his lips as he turned back to the ship’s controls, raising a hand to his face to rub his temples. Yet even as you physically pulled away, he could still feel the shadow of your presence. The bond that the Force created between the two of you was powerful, a web of life and power that made every fiber of your beings vibrate. It was as if he could feel every thought, every emotion, without needing to enter your mind.

And as much as he tried to suppress the fear, he knew something was changing in you. The Force flowed strongly within you, but with it came danger. The Jedi would never have allowed you to fully give in to the darkness, yet your refusal to choose between light and dark made you unpredictable a volatile threat to Him…

What he had glimpsed in your false memories during that kiss left him deeply shaken. The fragments he had seen showed a future where your path seemed carved out toward a dark destiny, one he had followed himself, one he both hoped and feared you would embrace. Inside you was a power that the Jedi had never fully understood, a latent force now emerging with newfound ferocity, fueled by your thirst for vengeance and your search for freedom. For your own identity.

Qimir knew what that path meant; he understood the consequences. Yet deep in his heart, there was a spark of hope that your decision to face Sol would draw you closer to his mission. Perhaps, deep down, he even wanted it. He had invested too much in you, in the moments you two shared, to let you slip away so easily. Qimir had sacrificed a part of himself to find you, to bind himself to you, and he was willing to sacrifice even more if it meant not losing you.

He knew that if you killed Sol, you would throw open the doors to the part of yourself you had so long tried to deny. And perhaps, when everything was over, you would realize that your freedom would never be complete unless you fully embraced the bond between you.

The hours dissolved quickly as your ship glided through Coruscant’s atmosphere, landing far from the bustling chaos of the central capital. The metal and glass dome of the vessel allowed you to take in the sprawling labyrinth of the capital city below, oppressive and vivid all at once.

Qimir sat beside you, still in the pilot’s seat, his gaze fixed on the familiar landscape with a look that betrayed a certain caution. For him, returning there meant reopening old wounds, scars from his past that had never fully healed. He knew he was taking a risk by coming back into the heart of danger, into the wolf's den where his old master awaited him, perhaps unknowingly. If she sensed his presence, his survival would hang by a thread, but that didn’t stop him. He knew he was doing this for you, to give you the freedom and peace you had been chasing for so long. And yet, as he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, a part of him wondered if it was truly worth it.

Once you landed, you rose from the co-pilot’s seat, distancing yourself from him for a brief moment. Then, like a shadow fading in the light, you felt something shift. You turned, returning to him, expecting to sense the familiar flow of the Force coursing around his body, that subtle vibration that linked every fiber of his being to your perception. But there was nothing. No trace of him, no echo of power. It was as if Qimir had been swallowed by a void, as if his connection to the Force had been snuffed out.

This wasn’t the first time Qimir had suppressed the flow of the Force within him, masking it as he did when he first encountered Sol in what had been his cover shop.

You stood there, staring at him, surprised, almost destabilized, as he donned his black cloak. You couldn’t read his presence as you had so many times before. He was there, right in front of you, yet he wasn’t. Or rather, it felt as though his essence had been wrapped in something invisible, a cloak that obscured every signal, rendering him almost imperceptible to your senses. It wasn’t just his power that was hidden, but his very essence, as if his soul itself had receded deep within, distant and unreachable.

It was unsettling, surreal. He had become a complete stranger, a faint outline in your field of vision. Yet there was something incredibly captivating about this ability of his. His capacity to conceal himself, to merge with the darkness, was something you had never witnessed before, something not even the Jedi Masters had taught, as they knew too little of such techniques.

You walked with determined steps along the wide streets of the capital’s outskirts, the burgundy cloak that once belonged to Mae covering your head, hiding your face from the many eyes of the city. You didn’t ask how Qimir managed to hide himself so perfectly. Every time you tried to sense him, to touch that spark in the Force that made him recognizable, you were met with a disconcerting emptiness. He was there, just a few steps behind you, yet his presence seemed to dissolve like smoke in the air.

It was afternoon, and the outskirts were brimming with life and movement. Merchants argued loudly, vendors shouted to promote their goods, and from the bars, the sound of music and raised voices mingled with the rowdy hustle of tipsy customers and the sweet perfume of prostitutes who tried to charm passersby with false smiles and hollow eyes. The scent of spices, the worn air, and the sweet aroma of the women of pleasure invaded your senses, and the crowd served as a perfect cloak to hide your presence. You ignored it all, as if the city itself had become nothing more than a faded backdrop to your mission. Nothing else existed but that dark call, the pull leading you toward your master.

The cloak protected you from curious glances, but not from the chaos within. You walked with a steady pace, ignoring the external world, focusing every thought on Sol. You could feel him, his power in the Force was like a beacon in the storm of emotions within you. You knew exactly where to find him, and each step brought you closer.

Qimir followed silently behind you, though every so often, his warm, low voice seemed to try and bridge the invisible distance you had created between you, like an underground current trying to pull you back.

“You're still in time to…” he began, as if offering you one last chance to turn back, but you silenced him with a cold, almost icy response without even looking at him.

“I know.” Your gaze remained fixed ahead, among the crowd that moved like a river around you. Your voice carried the weight of someone who had already decided, immovable. Yet you felt a thin tension between you that threatened to snap. You could sense his concern, even though he had rendered himself invisible to the Force.

The streets grew more chaotic, and you moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where they were going. The voices of merchants echoed in your ears, offering exotic goods, jewelry, and food, but your mind was elsewhere. Behind you, you felt Qimir’s gaze following you, silent but palpable. He knew what you were thinking; he could feel it.

“You’re not ready to face him, Y/N,” he finally said, his voice lower, almost choked. The tone was filled with concern but also with a cold awareness that you were refusing to acknowledge.

His words, however, struck you like an electric shock running down your spine. You held your breath for a moment, feeling the heat of resentment rising within you, the weight of his judgment making your blood boil. Your gaze hardened.

You couldn’t afford to waver.

“I’m not you.” Your words were sharp as a dagger, cutting into the wound that had never fully healed in him. “I won’t let my master strike me down only to run away wounded. I’ll do what I came here to do,” you finished. Your voice was hard, almost cruel, and as you walked, you didn’t realize how those words came out, sharp like a blade, sinking into Qimir’s heart with lethal precision. The pain in his gaze was unmistakable, even though he tried to hide it behind a veil of silence.

Only when you turned, searching for his figure behind you, did you notice that veil of pain in his gaze. You had touched a nerve, and you knew it. Qimir had never forgotten that wound, neither physical nor emotional, but he had opened up to you, letting you glimpse that fragment of his past.

You felt the weight of your words falling back on you. His gaze lowered slightly, and the silent pain he carried seemed to etch itself even deeper into his features. You bit the inside of your cheek, cursing yourself for having spoken so harshly. But it was too late to take those words back.

That expression struck you harder than you wanted to admit, and a pang of remorse tightened your breath. You didn’t understand why, in that very moment, you had become so cold towards him, as if part of you had built an icy wall. Perhaps it was the pressure, the growing tension as you approached Sol. Or maybe your own heart was too full of conflicting emotions to see clearly.

“I…” you began, your voice breaking. “You know I didn’t mean what I said.” you whispered, resuming your walk, your voice finally softer, almost regretful. You didn’t want to admit it, but you truly felt sorry for having struck so harshly. Qimir had always been there for you, and in that moment, you realized how much your emotions were taking over.

“I know” Qimir replied, but his tone was hollow, distant. He tried to mask the pain you had caused, but he couldn’t entirely hide it.

You stopped again without turning, your breath uneven as you tried to gather the pieces of yourself. The chaos of Galactic City continued around you, but for a moment, everything felt distant, as if the world had retreated to the background. Clenching your fists beneath the burgundy cloak, you searched for clarity in the turmoil consuming you.

"I'm sorry," you murmured through gritted teeth, nearly choked by your own frustration. "It’s just… I'm full of emotions, sensations … That I can't think straight. It’s this place." Your words were sincere, but you knew they wouldn't be enough to erase the pain you'd inflicted. Inside, a storm was raging, hatred, fear, pain, and a glimmer of hope, all intertwined and clashing.

"You're more like her than you realize" Qimir said, his voice an echo of the past, heavy with an observation he'd carried for a long time. His gaze, laced with recognition, held a weight that hit you deeply. The mention of Mae, always a thin thread binding everything you did, twisted painfully inside you. Hearing her name associated with you in that way made a lump form in your throat.

You clenched your jaw, pushing down the wave of emotions his words stirred within you. At that moment, it seemed only fair that he had found a way to wound you as well, even though he hadn’t meant to hurt you, just a thought spoken aloud. You took a deep breath and started walking again, this time faster, ignoring him. Your steps grew more resolute, almost angry, as you headed towards the upper part of the city.

After fifteen minutes, the city's energy shifted. You could feel it, an oppressive presence in the Force, like a heavy cloud wrapping around you. Jedi on patrol, Jedi strolling, politicians, they all resonated like notes in a rising symphony within your mind. Swallowing hard, you tried to focus on the connection with Sol, but something about this place unsettled you, as if a part of you wanted to retreat. A pure, distant, yet palpable energy teased your senses, like a whisper urging you to reconsider your actions.

Your heartbeat quickened, and with it, your frustration. Anxiety clouded your focus, and suddenly, the thread of Sol slipped through your grasp like sand between your fingers. You stopped abruptly, breath ragged, muscles tense. You had lost control, and Qimir noticed immediately.

"Relax," he whispered, his voice gentle, soothing against the confusion assaulting you. His hand rested lightly on your shoulder, and despite everything, the gesture anchored you to reality for a fleeting moment.

"If you keep pushing, you'll attune yourself to the Force of the entire city. Focus on your connection to him, find it within you. Use your emotions to guide you," his voice was calm, a guide as you followed his instructions, slowly finding your center.

His words flowed through you like a fresh breeze, cutting through the storm of thoughts and feelings swirling inside. You took a deep breath, letting the uncertainty slip away. Closing your eyes, you dove into the Force, trying to feel Sol once again. The chaotic vibrations of the city began to fade, blending into the background as you focused solely on him. The invisible threads of the Force around you shifted like taut strings, each belonging to someone in the capital, but you sought the one that bound you to Sol.

One heartbeat, then another, your breath deep and steady. Finally, you felt it. That thread, intense, familiar, pulsed in the Force like a blinding light. You recognized it.

“That way.” you murmured decisively, opening your eyes and fixing your gaze in the direction that now seemed inevitable. You began walking, your steps still filled with tension, but this time they were purposeful, deliberate. Each meter you covered brought you closer to the Jedi Temple.

Qimir followed closely, his gaze watchful and silent. He could sense the struggle within you, feel your uncertainty growing with every step. He knew how much this was costing you, how hard you were trying to maintain control, but the fear that your determination might lead you back to your master crept into his thoughts. He prayed it wouldn’t happen, it would be unbearable to watch you die in front of him.

When the Jedi Temple finally appeared in the distance, an imposing and solemn structure, you paused for a moment, your breath short and nervous. You had hoped with all your heart that Sol wasn’t there. You didn’t want to step back into that place you once called home. You didn’t want to face the ghosts that resided there.

You ventured deeper into the temple, followed closely by Qimir, whose presence seemed to envelop you like an invisible veil, making you almost imperceptible as you crossed the main atrium. Each step was accompanied by the irregular beat of your heart, an incessant drum of nervousness. You prayed you wouldn’t encounter anyone you knew, and fortunately, no familiar faces appeared. Yet, every corner, every corridor whispered forgotten memories, the voices of the past calling out to you. Your time as a Padawan resurfaced like thin blades, slowly and imperceptibly cutting into your skin with each recollection, with every step forward.

The towering walls of the temple’s ziggurat loomed over you, cold and silent, heavy with history. They had once been your protectors; now, they felt like ghosts, shadows of what you had lost. You continued walking, your steps growing more hesitant, until you reached the First Knowledge Quarter, in the northwest section of the ancient building. Each step in that direction strengthened the bond with your master. It was a sensation that shook you to your core: a mix of familiarity and terror, like the pull of a truth you had tried to escape.

The corridor leading to a place that had once been your refuge, your sanctuary from the sharp tongues of those who doubted you were worthy of being a Padawan, struck you with a wave of emotion. You felt a longing for it, feeling almost the nostalgia of…

"The Room of a Thousand Fountains…" Qimir whispered, completing the thought you had kept to yourself. His words echoed like a shared memory. You glanced at him, surprised to remember that he too had walked these halls, many years before you. His face was unreadable, but in his eyes, you glimpsed a deep understanding of what you were feeling.

“He’s there.” you murmured, swallowing heavily.

In front of you lay the entrance to the room, a gateway that seemed to conceal far more than just a physical space. Entering meant turning back, facing not just Sol, but everything you had been, everything that had driven you to become a Jedi, and everything you had lost.

The Room of a Thousand Fountains was exactly as you remembered it, yet something about it felt different. Time hadn’t altered its majestic beauty: exotic flora and fauna from all over the galaxy filled the space, creating a landscape both alien and comforting. The artisans and botanists who had designed it had managed to craft an oasis of peace and serenity in a temple that, although dedicated to the Force, could often become an oppressive place. The sound of water flowed softly, gurgling from a thousand small fountains, reflecting the light in delicate cascades that seemed to dance among the lush trees and bushes. A light mist rose from the streams, cloaking the air with a freshness that carried the weight of ancient tranquility.

A part of you longed to stop, to breathe deeply in that peace, and lose yourself in the place that, as a child, you had considered your true home. Sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting the water of the fountains in golden and azure hues. The trees, covered in bright flowers, swayed gently, moved by a breeze that seemed to come from another world. But today, this place was no longer a refuge. Today, it was the stage for your battle, for your fall.

With every step you took into the room, you drew closer to Sol, and with it, the weight of emotion grew heavier. There was no room left for serenity; everything within you was transforming into a grip of tension. Your breath was quick and shallow, your fingers instinctively tightened around the edge of Mae’s cloak. The memory of her, of her loss, fueled the fire of your determination, but at the same time, it consumed you.

Behind you, Qimir followed you in silence, his gaze piercing, as if he could sense every conflict raging within you. He felt your nervousness, the way your strength seemed to waver between control and impulse, between light and darkness. And he said nothing, letting you sink into your thoughts. It was your battle, and he knew it.

When you stopped in front of the central area of the hall, time seemed to slow down. The beating of your heart echoed in your ears like drums on a battlefield. Sol was there, sitting cross-legged, immersed in meditation, his unmistakable figure at the center of that oasis which had once been your refuge. But now, that serenity seemed to you like a cruel illusion, a mirror reflecting a calm you could never reach again. The sound of the fountains blended with your thoughts, amplifying the inner turmoil devouring you. Every drop of water seemed to fall as heavily as a blade on your skin, flowing slowly but relentlessly, carving invisible wounds.

Inside you, the storm was growing. Fear, nostalgia, pain, anger… Every emotion you had repressed was now rising to the surface, like a river that had burst its banks. The image of Sol in front of you was both familiar and foreign. You could no longer recognize the man you once considered a guide, an almost fatherly figure. Now, seeing his calmness, the contrast with your fury was unbearable. Your hand clenched around the hilt of the lightsaber that Osha had wielded at Qimir's side for years. The cold sensation of the metal against your skin was the only anchor to reality.

Sol's voice shattered the silence with devastating power.

“Y/n…” Sol's voice cut through the air with the same intensity as the water from the fountains crashing onto the ground below. You shivered at the sound of your name on his lips, a blow to your soul. How dare he speak to you with such familiarity? How dare he drag you back with just one word?

You didn’t respond. Every fiber of your being strained to contain the fury rising within. You felt the heat of anger burning inside, mixed with a deeper cold: the cold of betrayal. You watched him rise with the same calm that had always been his, as if nothing had changed. But everything had changed. You saw him turn toward you, his expression shifting from the relief of feeling your presence again to the gravity of the situation he now faced. The serene, relieved look quickly gave way to the shadow of understanding. Your stance, the lightsaber in your hand, everything, spoke louder than words.

“Master.” The word slipped from your lips like a blade of ice, sharp, cold, laced with pain and resentment. It was the first time you had called him that since he abandoned you on Khofar. Every time you spoke that title, the poison of the past resurfaced, tainting every thought, every memory. You had admired him, followed him blindly, and he had left you behind, without explanation, without a helping hand. Abandoned to the enemy.

Sol swallowed, and you saw the flash of realization in his eyes. He understood. Finally, he understood.

“Don’t do that…” His voice, now broken by a plea, seemed almost surreal. He, who had once been your rock, the one who always knew what to do, was now there, disarmed, vulnerable, almost defenseless, a shadow of the man you once considered a father. His lightsaber lay a few steps away from him, but he didn’t call it to him. He didn’t want to fight you. Or at least, he still hoped he wouldn’t have to.

He could sense everything about you: the turmoil of emotions, the growing hatred, the fear consuming you. He could read your thoughts, see the depth of your suffering, and he understood exactly how far you were willing to go. But that wasn’t enough to stop you. Not anymore. You belonged to the darkness now.

Pain gripped your chest like a vice. Your time with Qimir had forged a different person, a harder, more ruthless one. But the real blow, the true trauma, had been being abandoned by him, right when you needed him most. He had fled, leaving you to face the pain and the Sith without looking back. Your mind was a whirlwind of contrasting images: his teachings, the warmth of his affection… and then the coldness with which he left, abandoning you. The open wound that had turned into a scar burned, and you no longer knew if you were driven by the desire for revenge or the desperation to understand.

And then there was Mae.

A wave of hatred surged through you at the thought of your sister, dead under circumstances that still tore at your soul, so inexplicable they were. You had feared that Sol might have been involved, that he had made the fatal decision that led to her death. You couldn’t look at him without seeing hands stained with blood—the blood of your family. The uncertainty, the anguish of not knowing if he was responsible, strangled your soul.

Betrayal, abandonment, hatred. And fear.

Fear that, deep down, he truly was the man you feared he had become. Fear that his wisdom had been an illusion, that everything he taught you was merely a shadow of what he really was. The possibility that he could have been the one behind Mae’s death terrified you, made you lose control.

Your breath was becoming more labored, and your fingers clenched around the lightsaber as if the mere grip could contain all the chaos you were trying to tame. But you couldn’t hold it back any longer.

‘I can’t stop.’ you thought, the echo of your own determination reverberating through the peaceful hall.

Qimir watched the scene from a distance, hidden in the shadow of a massive tree at the edge of the hall. The sound of rushing water seemed to muffle everything happening, but he could sense every single emotion coursing through you. It was as if your emotions were an extension of his own, a distorted reflection of his past.

The hatred burning within you was palpable, a poison spreading through the air like an invisible gas. Qimir felt it vibrating in his bones, seeing in your fury what had once been his own. The hatred for his Jedi master, the repressed anger at the teachings that had imprisoned him, the thirst for revenge that had consumed him. It was like a flashback swallowing him whole, a cycle repeating with cruel precision.

He remembered perfectly when, decades earlier, he had found himself in the same place you were now. With a trembling hand on his lightsaber, ready to lash out at his master, blinded by pain and rage. He knew what it meant to be devoured by hatred, to understand that there would be no redemption in committing the final act, losing everything. That revenge would not bring peace but only an unstoppable spiral of chaos. Qimir had been drawn into that darkness and had never managed to find a way out. His life had been marked by that one decision that had finally set him free.

And now he saw you there. He knew perfectly well that you wouldn’t find peace in killing Sol. The illusion of relief would last a mere heartbeat during the confrontation, and then emptiness would claim everything. But he wouldn’t intervene. Not this time.

Qimir had already made up his mind. He wouldn’t stop you.

If he interfered, he would break that cycle, and somehow your suffering would redeem his. But he wasn’t ready for that. In a sense, he shouldn’t be. Allowing you to commit that act was necessary, as it would lead you down the path to the dark side. It would be so; He had decided it would be so, and he found himself succumbing to a decision he knew would be destructive for you.

He knew it wouldn’t be your hatred that would destroy you, but your conviction that this was the only way to find peace.

Sol's voice was like a sharp blade piercing your soul, but the pain wasn’t enough to stop you. His words,

"This isn't you, my old Padawan" echoed like a distant memory, buried beneath layers of hatred and resentment. Every fiber of your being screamed for vengeance, each step you took toward him charged with an unstoppable tension. Sol's paternal tone grated against your ears, covered by anger and bitterness, as you found the strength to ask the fatal question.

"Mae… Where is she?" Your voice trembled, and you hated yourself for that weakness. You desperately sought a thread of hope, a sign that she was still alive, that it had all been a mistake. A part of you even hoped to discover that she was actually alive and that you didn't feel the Force bond with her only because she had used a skill similar to the one Qimir employed to disguise herself. But that was not the case; Sol's expression answered you more than his words could.

"Y/n… we-" he began, desperately trying to find the right words, but it was useless. Your grip on the lightsaber was so tight that your knuckles turned white.

"You killed her." Your words were pure poison, a definitive condemnation. The resentment and darkness in your gaze would have made anyone tremble, even the bravest of Jedi Masters.

"That's not what happened…" His hand reached out toward you, hoping to reclaim what was left of the Padawan he once knew, but his other hand was ready to call his lightsaber.

You advanced slowly, each step heavy as lead, uncertain yet determined at the same time. For a single, desperate moment, you hoped that somehow he could tell you that he hadn’t done anything, that he wasn’t responsible for what had been your sister’s death.

"But it was like that…" you murmured, almost trying to convince yourself, still in disbelief and confusion. Then you saw it in his eyes: betrayal, guilt. The fragments of your heart shattered into a thousand pieces, burning with hatred.

"You… you killed her." Your whisper became a verdict, and for the first time, you noticed fear in your old master's eyes. The man you had once revered now trembled before you, aware of how much you had changed, completely consumed by hatred. And it was in that moment that everything collapsed.

"I… y/n…"

Sol quickly called his lightsaber to him, the familiar sound of its activation resonating in the hall. You struck at him with all your strength, the weight of your pain pouring into the violence of the attack. He blocked your strike at the last second, but the clash of the blades echoed in the room, breaking the harmony of the waterfalls and the chirping of some birds.

There, amidst the beauty of nature, the serenity of the place shattered under the fire of combat. The blades hissed in the air, illuminating the waterfalls and the exotic plants around you, while the water reflected flashes of red and blue light. The rough stone floor beneath you vibrated with each impact, and every time the lightsabers met, a spark of pure energy lit up the green of the surrounding garden. The leaves of the trees rustled beneath your swift movements, as your heavy breaths mingled with the constant sound of flowing water.

"Y/n, don’t succumb to your darkness…" Sol still tried to reach you, but his words were drowned out by the clash of lightsabers. Each strike you unleashed was fiercer than the last, an explosion of uncontrollable rage. Your technique merged with a brutality you had never known. Sol, his face etched with pain and disappointment, struggled to defend himself, blocking your attacks with increasing difficulty.

In your fury, you had lost all control. Every thrust was heavy with hatred, the blade of your lightsaber sliding close to his flesh, grazing his Jedi robes with lethal precision. The sound of water became more distant, muffled by the pounding beat of your heart. Each blow that Sol parried drove you to strike harder, faster, as if only his destruction could quell the turmoil within you.

"You’re not like this!" Sol shouted, retreating, almost pleading, as he defended against yet another strike. But he knew he could no longer stop you. Your emotions were a raging river, overwhelming, uncontrollable. The past, the lies, Mae’s death… everything had pushed you beyond your limit, and now you were unstoppable. Sol, the master who had once taught you calm and peace, was now the target of your deepest hatred.

The hall transformed into a theater of destruction. The harmonious sound of the artificial forest was drowned out by the sharp hum of lightsabers and the violent clash of your blades striking with ferocity. You felt nothing, saw nothing; all you felt now was hatred. The vibrant green of the plants and the blue of the waters no longer existed for you. Only the red of your fury.

"You promised to protect me!" Your scream exploded in the hall, echoing against the walls as your saber finally found its mark. The blade sizzled as it struck Sol’s shoulder, leaving a burning cut. It wasn’t enough. His face contorted in pure terror as he used the Force to throw you back, the instinctive gesture of a man pushed to his limit, yet still reluctant to hurt you. "To protect both of us!" you continued, your anger resonating in your voice like thunder as you rose again, fueled by hatred. You lunged at him once more with uncontrolled fury, your strikes becoming faster, more precise, as you sought every possible opening. Sol was now forced to defend himself desperately, parrying your thrusts with quick but increasingly fatigued movements, barely dodging your last attack.

"It was a mistake…" he said in a strained voice, his breathing heavy, bringing a hand to the burn on his shoulder, seeking relief he would never find. He retreated, his face twisted in pain, both physical and emotional, unable to tear his gaze from you, as if he were looking at someone he no longer recognized.

But you could no longer hear his words. Each time your blade met his, your frustration grew. You struck with such violence that pieces of flora fell to the ground, severed and charred. The fountains, once symbols of your serenity, now reflected the darkness consuming you. Your emotions, once controlled, were now an uncontrollable torrent of pain, grief, and anger. Your lightsaber sliced through the air with ferocity, hissing like a snake ready to strike, destroying everything you had once loved. Every blow you dealt was an act of accusation, an open wound.

"I trusted you…" Your voice cracked, a mix of hatred and regret reflected in your movements. Sol, despite his fatigue, still managed to defend himself, but his movements grew slower. Your anger made you stronger, but also more unpredictable, and he knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

With a scream of rage, you plunged your saber with all your might, aiming for his chest, seeking the decisive blow. But Sol, in a last desperate act, blocked the strike with a speed you wouldn’t have thought possible. Your blades crossed with devastating force, sparks flying in every direction, illuminating the space around you. The sound of metal and energy colliding was deafening, and for a moment, everything else faded away. Only you and Sol remained.

Your sabers sizzled and screeched, locked in a struggle of strength and will. You looked into his eyes, searching for any sign of remorse, any confirmation that the Sol you once knew still existed. What you found broke your heart.

With a furious cry, you pushed with all your strength, forcing him to retreat once again. But he, breathless and moving slower, had no intention of hurting you. He blocked every strike, dodging with pinpoint precision, but he did not counterattack. His gaze was that of a broken man, aware of what he had lost, powerless to reclaim it. The gaze of a father…

"Please…" he whispered, but his words were drowned out by the roar of your blade approaching once more. The movements became frantic. Your legs moved agilely, jumping over small ponds and the carved rocks decorating the hall, seizing every hold to try to strike him from a new angle. But Sol, despite the pain and fatigue, still held his ground. He jumped back, parrying and dodging, but each time he was closer to his limit.

The beauty of the Room of a Thousand Fountains was consumed by the fury of battle. The waterfalls, once symbols of calm and contemplation, now reflected the destruction around you. The exotic trees, once lush, fell to the ground one after another, struck by your merciless blade. The air itself felt denser, suffocating, as your strikes grew more desperate. Broken plants, shattered statues, water splashing everywhere as your blade mercilessly cut not only the nature around you but also the memories of your childhood, the moments when this place had been your home, your refuge. It was no longer any of that. Now it was just the stage for your revenge.

Sol continued to defend himself, desperately seeking a way to stop you without hurting you. But you were now unstoppable. Every blow, every movement, was heavy with the weight of years of pain and betrayal. Yet beneath all that anger, there was still a part of you that didn’t want this end. A part that screamed to stop, that knew if you continued, you would lose yourself forever.

Every strike you unleashed against Sol was a cry of despair, an explosion of years of pain and betrayal. Your blade buzzed in the air, seeking its target, but each time it was halted by the stubborn resistance of your old master. Yet, he did not counterattack. Sol would never raise his blade against you, even as death approached ever closer. His face, a mask of torment, reflected not hatred but only regret and love, wounded by your darkness.

"I believed in you!"

The words choked out of your throat, a strangled cry as pain cut through the armor of rage that surrounded you. Tears threatened to fall, but you held them back, fueled by the fury that now completely dominated you. Every movement was fierce, every strike a silent scream of your broken heart. You were close to the edge, and he knew it. Each blow he barely parried, each step back he took, pushed you further toward the point of no return. Yet, deep within you, something still screamed, desperately trying to stop you. But you no longer listened to that voice.

Frustration grew inside you. The awareness urging you not to do this was no longer enough. Every blow parried by Sol felt like a rejection of your vengeance, a denial of the last act of love you could have offered to Mae.

Sol managed to send your lightsaber flying with a decisive wave of his hand, using the Force one last time with the last of his strength. You felt the absence of the familiar weight of the weapon, and panic mixed with rage surged through you. You were disarmed. He knew it. He sheathed his inactive lightsaber at his side and moved quickly toward you, his face etched with pain and determination. Before you could react, his arms enveloped you in a desperate embrace, the hands that once supported you now holding you captive.

His arms, once a refuge, were now a cold, suffocating trap. The force with which he held you was not just physical but emotional: a desperate attempt to bring you back, to save what remained of his padawan. You felt his voice break against your ear as he tried to explain himself, the hope of changing your mind clashing with the growing despair.

"I had to do it, I-"

But his words were muffled when your hand, driven by an unstoppable dark impulse, found his lightsaber.

And then, something broke inside you.

It was as if an invisible thread, the one that had kept you tied to humanity, had snapped. You felt your hand become steady, your mind go blank, frozen in the moment. In that brief instant, the world seemed to slow down.

In a fluid, almost mechanical motion, you activated it without hesitation at his side. The sharp sound of the energy blade piercing his flesh, burning it, echoed in the room like a sudden crash in the quiet. You felt his body stiffen, a strangled sob escaping him, and the warmth of his blood rising in his throat, splattering on your shoulder. That blood, thick and dark, burned your skin like the mark of an irreversible wound.

Time distorted, and everything became a distant echo. Sol stood still for a moment, almost in disbelief, his eyes widening as they met yours with a mix of pain and surprise. The deep brown of his irises seemed to fade, replaced by profound sadness, an emptiness that reflected your own. His lips trembled as if he wanted to say something, but no words came.

As he felt his life slipping away, his gaze deepened further, becoming a window into all the emotions he had suppressed until that moment. There was infinite disappointment, not in you, but in himself. He should have protected you; he should have been there for you. In that final moment, he realized that he had failed.

Sol's eyes searched yours, as if still hoping to see the young padawan he had trained, the girl he loved like a daughter. But he found nothing of what he remembered. He finally understood that there was no way to bring you back, and with that realization, a deep sadness clouded his gaze. There was no hatred in him, only a silent forgiveness.

Sol staggered, collapsing to his knees as your gaze remained fixed in the void, devoid of any spark of compassion. The weight of his body grew lighter in your arms, yet you felt nothing. Inside you, something had broken forever, but it was not pain you felt, only a cold emptiness that enveloped you completely.

As he fell to his knees, Sol's eyes never left yours, as if he wanted to imprint that final message in you: despite everything, he would always love you, until the end. His eyelids slowly closed, like the lowering of a curtain on a tragedy, and with one last whisper of your name, he surrendered to his fate.

"You promised…" you whispered, your voice no longer seeming like your own, drained of emotion and warmth, as if it were rising from the depths of an endless abyss. As you slowly clenched your hand into a fist, giving him a death more painful than he deserved, suffocating him with the Force. There was no more hatred, no more anger. Only a deafening silence now.

And as Sol's body fell to the ground, his gaze now slowly empty, you understood that there was no redemption, no return. Inside you, there was nothing left. The fury, the hatred, the desire for vengeance that had guided you until that moment had faded, leaving you only with the unbearable weight of the realization: you had lost everything.

Tears streamed down your impassive face as you gripped the iron hilt, watching the now semi-destroyed hall. The blue blade slowly began to take on the crimson hue of Qimir and your sister. You had nothing left. You had nothing left, not even vengeance.

A memory crashed over you like a sudden wave, trapping you in a fragment of time you had almost forgotten, yet it was there, buried beneath layers of pain and hatred.

You were still a young padawan, sitting in front of Sol in the council chamber, a vast and imposing room that made you feel even smaller. The Jedi council members were arranged in a circle, their serious and stern eyes focused on you. Despite the tension, Sol's figure beside you was a beacon of warmth, a paternal presence that shielded you from the oppressive atmosphere. His warm hands gently rested on your slender arms covered by your padawan robes, a gesture that spoke of affection and reassurance, and for a moment, you felt safe.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

He asked gently, his low, enveloping voice inviting you to look within yourself. There was no judgment in his tone, just genuine interest, a sincere curiosity to know how you imagined your future. His eyes studied you with affection, reflecting a trust that had always comforted you, even in the most difficult moments.

But that question, so simple, suddenly made you feel exposed. The knot in your throat tightened with unexpected force, the words seemed to be stifled before they could even form. You looked at Sol, searching his eyes for the answer, something that would make him proud, something that could alleviate the weight growing inside you. You could feel the weight of the other Jedi's gazes around you, as if the fate of your entire future depended on that one answer.

“Kind…”

You finally whispered, your voice weak and almost broken, as if that word had been drawn from the depths of your heart with great effort. Your lips trembled slightly as you held back the tears threatening to fall. You didn’t want to cry; you didn’t even know why that word had struck you so deeply.

Sol, sensing your hesitation and fragility, smiled. A smile full of understanding and comfort. His eyes sparkled with pure emotion, and without saying anything, he wrapped you in an embrace, enveloping you in his reassuring presence. In that moment, it felt like nothing could ever hurt you.

“Mh…” Sol murmured in a deep tone, full of satisfaction. He was reassured, as if that answer had confirmed everything he already knew or thought he knew about you. That sound seemed to contain all that needed no words: his approval, his pride, his joy in knowing he could guide you along the path you had just begun to walk. There was no doubt now: he would become your master. You knew it. He knew it too.

And for a brief moment, amidst the chaos of your fractured mind, that memory brought back the feeling of no longer being that innocent, hopeful young padawan; you had killed him along with the paternal figure now lying at your feet. But then, the memory shattered, dissolving into the empty echo of the present. And you were back there, with Sol's lifeless body on the ground, your hands still stained with his blood and your gaze cold.

You shifted your gaze to one of the trees, watching it slowly catch fire in front of you. You recognized its bark as coming from Brendok, your home planet. As a child, you loved to hide among its branches, climbing up and disappearing from your friends. You loved that tree; it reminded you of your mother, strong and wise, always ready to protect you. Now, you felt nothing for it. You turned and met Qimir's gaze, which seemed to understand your absence.

Was this what he meant when he told you he had lost everything and had finally become free? Was this the cost of freedom?

“Let’s go home.” you hissed coldly, pulling up your hood that had fallen during the battle. You didn't even turn to give a final glance at Sol's body. You reached out and retrieved Mae's lightsaber, placing it at your side before walking toward the exit of that place, letting the flames consume the green lung of the temple, burning the last roots that still tied you to it, abandoning the memory that had returned to you of your old master.

Qimir lowered his gaze in silence, wiping a lonely tear that wrinkled his face, feeling your pain for you, following you out of that memory with your ex master, sensing that faint flame extinguishing within you.

He nodded before following you outside, using the Force suppression once again to cover both your tracks, especially yours, which had become stronger. More chaotic.

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TAGLIST: @neteyamtanhi @blossomedfloweroflove @muffledgorillaviolence @princessakirika

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Notes :

I admit that I cried several times during the writing. Especially in the Padawan flashback scene, I felt a lot of emotions inside. I think it’s the chapter that I loved to write most of all. I hope to have also excited you in some way during the reading, I wish that you could feel my writing vividly, as if it were the real story of your experience.

Plus, who do you think is the "Him" that Qimir refers to?

I hope you enjoyed the chapter, tell me what you think. Love you, thank you for the support

-Mel

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rae-gar-targaryen · 2 months

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darling, how could i fear any hurricane? [qimir/the stranger x force sensitive!reader]

Summary: Neither the backwater planet you’d chosen for yourself, nor the sanctity of your own mind, is safe from the nightly visitations of your dream stranger. Is he real, or just another trick of the mind? And what of the power he promises? Desire, he’d spoken of. Desire, desire, desire…

Pairing: Qimir/The Stranger x Force-Sensitive!reader [my reader is written ambiguously, but as with all of my reader inserts are written with a Latina!reader in mind]

Warnings: 18+ please – fingering, dry humping, the brief mention of choking, Qimir being a seductive motherfucker, relatively minor smut, all things considered. The briefest descriptions of violence; reader has female anatomy.

Word Count: 5.7k of sinful soliloquy and definitely no manipulation. No, you want this power, don’t you??

A/N: Breaking my writing drought with this. I don’t know if it’s any good, and no one asked for it. But I’m glad to be sharing my writing again. Please be gentle!! Also, if you’ve ever read my Mandalorian x princess!reader fic, there’s an easter egg in here for you!

The verdant planet of Vorduun was known for very little – A small, outer-world, far from the shiny Core planets that boast chrome, progress, and bureaucracy. Lush plantlife, a fertile place with brimming riverbanks, and jungles teeming and thrumming to life with flora and fauna at the turn of the seasons. Off the edge of the map. Off the edge of the world. A perfect place to hide.

To lose yourself.

And the night is stifling, to say the least. Of all the Vorduunian summers you’d endured in your self-isolation, this one had to be the worst. The months’ long deluge of spring rains had made for a stiflingly humid summer, the green jungle steaming with sticky heat. If a saving grace was to be found in the swelter, it was that the night skies were unlike everything you’d ever beheld – a far cry from the fluorescent pollution endemic of your years on Courscant.

Tonight's Vorduunian sky is no exception – a clear expanse of rich velvet, stars like diamonds crushed into the smooth folds of the expansive sky. Twinkling and winking richly down at you through the gaping slats of the shack you now called home.

You twist, a serpent in your own threadbare bedsheets, attempting to find comfort in the sticky summer heat of the planet, chasing the elusive promise of coolness as you flip your pillow to the other side with a huff.

Kind of a sick game, if you thought about it. That if you weren’t running from something, you were chasing something else.

At present? Chasing a good night’s rest. Preferably dreamless, if you were honest. Your dreams of late are plagued with all sorts of incomprehensible flashes, feelings of being watched, feverish and hazy. Your subconscious’s foreboding certainty that if you’d only just turn around, you’d be met with a face that was not your own -– the disquieting sense of something, or someone, lurking just around a corner. Sprinting down echoing hallways with promises, greatness, a warrior's oath, all just out of reach, certain that if you’d slowed your pace, whatever was pursuing you might just snatch you, an unseen stranger.

Other nights, the dreams were different – the unflinching and unchanging grin set in a mask of metalloid teeth, baring themselves at you . Of ever-watchful eyes judging, as you forced yourself through training drills. The disapproving shake of your Master’s head, his disappointment palpable and always, always directed at only you . The seizing terror of being dropped into combat with no saber – of being skewered through by an unseen shadow with a red plasma blade. Of walls closing in on you. Of the Knights whom you had once considered your friends turning their backs on you while you fought tooth and nail. Of your lungs filled with your unreleased screams – of terror or frustration, you weren’t sure – pulling you down beneath the surface of your failure until you drowned in the disappointment of others’ unfulfilled expectations. Of hands on an unseen body tinkering with phials of something, producing poisonous concoctions of sickly green that the unseen stranger dripped down your throat, pouring them past your lips with sure, warm fingers pressing on your tongue. You swore you could feel the poison upon your waking, the phantom feeling of liquid shredding your veins with horrific heat, your heart thundering.

Other nights the dreams were different yet, still. Of shadows shedding their inky cloak to reveal hands that caressed. Of hands that held you and wiped your tears. Of thorns falling from vines – leaving what once had pricked and scratched you to now soothe with velvety softness as the vines wound their way around your wrists, tugging you into an unseen embrace with whispers of promises humming in your ears like the tufty wings of insects. And you would go willingly. Of the warm breath of another in your ear, their body warm behind you, distinct in its softness from that of the sunwarmed cliffs the two of you would watch the sunset from, just you and your unseen stranger. Of those same metalloid teeth melting into a radiant smile of brilliant white, beheld in a sharp jaw – the critique of disapproving masters replaced by his balmy, sublime approval.

Of the tease and taste of his cinnamon lips brushing your own, the fluttering fan of lashes along the peaks of your cheekbones. Of warm, wan whispers of want , desire , soothing your ears. Of warm, fine-boned, assured hands atop your own, guiding yours in a sensuous glide along your own skin. Promises of m ore, more, more as silken lips slipped their way along the column of your throat – your hitching gasps met with his rumbling hums of satisfaction that lasted in your ears for the duration of the following day. Of the gentle lapping of water over smooth-rocked shores, a hand grasping yours with a promise of power. Yet again of more, more, more, if you’d just … Well, you weren’t sure.

What you were sure of was that it had been weeks of these dreams. Your exhaustion was tugging at the corners of your reality, manifesting itself into silly mistakes – a slipped knife while cutting your meals, or the prickling feeling of someone watching from the dark corner of your room. At times, you weren’t sure what was real and what was dreamscape. A slow descent into madness, torment that felt justified, somehow –-

This purgatory was clearly your penance for your failure. To atone for the fact that you could never be more than what you are now – a former padawan cast out of a renowned Order, thanks in part to her own passions and propensities, roiling rages, and lilting lust. A warrior stripped of all pomp and credential. A blistering reminder of something never to be, of someone you could never be.

And so here you were. Piteous and exiled in the jungles of Vorduun with no one other than your occasional unseen dream stranger for company. And what of tonight? Had you slept? Were you asleep? The hazy jungle heat made it impossible to tell. When your days consist of the same, tedious routine maintenance to your little corner of jungle, purely isolated, save for irregular treks to the nearest settlement to barter … And when you tossed and turned your nights away in fitful fugue states of half-awake melded with oppressive dreams – well, who was to say what was really real?

The ghost of a touch along your exposed shoulder didn’t merit a response … Until it happened again. Causing you to sit bolt upright in bed, eyes tracking the room for any disturbance – seen or unseen.

That prickle, so like static rippling across your skin couldn’t be the Force. No, no. It was the trickle of sweat down the back of your neck, and nothing else. What reason would you have to feel the Force here, now?

Just another heated night, just another heated dream….

And now, were your eyes deceiving you, or were the shadows in the corner of your room were moving, swirling into shape as a well-toned arm emerges from the darkness, raised in a gesture of … peace? And the rest of him follows, stepping into the muted illumination from your single gaslamp that sputters in the corner of your room, casting his shadow along the opposite wall, sinuous and slinking as he slowly approaches.

You spring from your bed, eyes darting to the loose slat in your floor where you housed your ill-used saber, quickly considering the relative size of your room and how many steps it would take him to reach you, arms outstretched, to snuff the life from you before you could call the blade to your hand .

His eyes track yours, clocking the floorboard, before placing both hands up in front of him now, a plea –

“You don’t need that,” he murmurs, taking a tentative step toward you. And whether it was the room that shrank around you both, or that was just his presence in your space – so unused to anyone but you – you weren’t sure.

“Need what?” Play dumb, and he won't have any reason to harm you, leaving you an opportunity to strike. Your favorite trick, a minor deception for a tactical advantage.

He steps into the dim, flickering light of the gas lamp, a mild smirk blooming along his full lips, the lamplight warming his skin.

“Your Jedi weapon.”

You glance once more between the loose floorboard and the man slowly approaching you, cocking your head as his features became revealed to you, your mind tickling with recognition as you noted the sharp angle of his jaw and the baleful, syrupy darkness of his eyes –

“You,” you breathe. “I know your face.”

“Do you?” His eyes meet yours, searching.

Yes. You had a good memory for faces, and his you had seen a few times before. Your trips to the nearest settlement every tenday for the open-air market to barter what you had cultivated from the land around your ramshackle home for fruit, thread, and other goods you didn’t often come by on your own. You had seen him at a stall selling tinctures and other apothecary-type goods. You’d never approached, of course. Hadn’t had a need for burn creams or toxins. But there was no denying the swooping lock of hair that would curtain over his eyes, the sharp angle of his features. The way his eyes would track the movement of the market, hawkish, despite the seeming ineffectual haze in them…

A minor deception, you now realize. But for what tactical advantage?

“The chemist from the bazaar,” you reply.

His lips quirk at your realization – the bud of the smirk now unfurling into a full smile.

“You’re more observant than I gave you credit for, warrior,” he stands before you now, hands still lightly held up in a gesture of peace. “That’s good… A nice surprise ,” his voice taking on an almost-purr of satisfaction.

You pause, lips parting lightly. What could he mean by that?

“Qimir,” he gestures to himself by way of introduction.

Qimir. Likely not his real name. Still, you ponder, an interesting choice. Qimir. Like Chimaera, something ancient and unknowable. A monstrous creature signifying the parable of illusion – the promise of something only too impossible to achieve. You wonder if he knew what his “name” sounded like when he’d picked it.

And you hope your face hasn’t betrayed your whirring thoughts as you continue your assessment, hoping to keep a sweep of neutrality across your features as you address him again.

“If you say so. Business must be slow if you’re here to rob me, poisoner. I’m afraid you’ll be sorely disappointed,” your eyes flit around the relatively bare bedroom, gesturing with your chin to the equally Spartan main room of your little ramshackle cabin. “Not much here of value.”

He crosses one foot over the other as he takes a step to orbit you, almost swordsmanlike. As though he were preparing to duel. You mirror his step, your back to your bed now, facing your doorway. His body between yours and your exit.

“I wouldn’t say nothing,” he brings a finger to his chin as if in ponderment. “You’re here, after all. And why would I give you my name, show you my face, if I intended to rob you?”

“Why you do anything means nothing to me,” you bite, “and you’ll have to forgive my manners if I don’t feel like giving you my name. Leave, now , while I let you leave, Qimir.”

His eyes sweep your form, note your weight on the balls of your feet, bracing for a fight. You probably have weapons other than your laser sword stashed away, if he had to guess . He takes a tentative step toward you, a low chuckle escaping him at the fire in your eyes, trying not to smile any wider than he has already, to give away his pleased impression of your fury.

“I know who you are,” you blink at his statement, trying not to let the surprise show on your face. “You don't have anything to fear from me, little Jedi.”

“I am no Jedi,” you snipped, rolling your eyes at the insolence of the man before you. If he cared at all about your rude display, Qimir said nothing.

“I am more than aware of that, too,” he murmured, his voice like silk in your ears as he takes yet another small step toward you, invading your space, close enough to breathe your air, a hair’s breadth from touch.

Too close. You flex your fingers, calling your lightsaber from its hiding place under your loose floorboard into the palm of your hand in a flash, the cool metal meeting your palm like an old friend, a sense of relief. You surge forward into Qimir’s space, pressing the hilt of the saber into his abdomen.

“If you know so much, then you also know you shouldn’t have come,” you snarl. “I don’t know if you didn't take the hint, here at the edge of the world, but I don't take kindly to uninvited guests.”

“You did invite me, little viper,” he insists, his voice never losing its even, dulcet quality.

At your furrowed brow, he gently brings his fingertips to brush the bare skin of your wrist that’s pressing the hilt of your lightsaber into his stomach. A familiar, prickling ripple bursts across your skin, causing goosebumps to stipple your arms. So familiar. So like the feel of lips from your unseen stranger. So like the Force.

The dark eyes that met yours in the low light of your room were familiar for more than just an observation in passing at the market.

“Y-you,” you gasp, the realization causing your chest to seize, to clench your teeth in the wave of seething anger. “You’ve been … in my head … for months …”

He cocks his head at you, watching the emotions process along your face. He had seen your fears and failures, your heart’s greatest desires. He had seen it all …

“The quickest way to your heart,” he reasons. “Through your head. So you’ll have to forgive my intrusion. I wanted to know you.” Sweet words meant to soothe.

You aren’t sure if that makes it any better. Perhaps the reasoning makes it worse.

“So like a poisoner,” you level his gaze with a steely one of your own. “To try to slip through the cracks unseen. But I know the quickest way to your heart.”

“You do?” He seems surprised at your rejoinder. As if he hadn’t expected you to play. To be so quick of wit as you were of reflex.

“Between your fourth and fifth rib,” you hum, your voice taking on an almost-seductive tone – a contradiction to the reminder of you pressing the hilt of the saber into him, precisely where you mean to.

“I appreciate a good threat. Clever,” he smiles, placating. “But there’s no need for that, little warrior. After all… I wouldn't leave you to the dark, not like they did,” he assures, brushing his fingertips against the bare skin of your wrist, so lightly you would’ve thought you’d imagined it. Using the contact to connect to you through the Force once more – your shared memories dancing behind one another’s eyes. Of your fellow Padawans succeeding while your Master only saw failure. Of the dazzlingly white smile of your classmate with the bronze skin and twists in his hair, his yellow lightsaber flashing as you drilled together, his smile fading to frown with the rest of his features as you had used the Force to push him away a bit too hard – rage bubbling to the surface – in direct violation of your training ordinances. Of your departure from Coruscant, no one to bid you goodbye, not even your training partner who had once called himself your friend.

You make to turn your head, to break contact with his dark, glimmering, all-seeing eyes. Like tar pits, drawing you ever deeper. His other hand catches your chin between thumb and forefinger, drawing you back to his gaze, an orbit you cannot escape. Would you even want to?

“And do you believe you would have belonged? The Jedi are deceivers. They deal in abandonment … cloaked in empty platitudes,” he trails his index finger along the curve of your jawline, an almost illusory brush of his skin against yours – the whisper of a touch, as though to illustrate the point. “The wisp of a promise, like spun sugar. Sweet, but false, their promises of righteousness. Of importance.”

Your lips part, catching the barest bit of his thumb as it does so, your eyes now searching his, seeking motive.

“And what do you offer instead? That's what this is, right? An offer?”

He smiles wider now, nodding in the barest acknowledgment. As though you’ve finally asked the right question.

“I … make the intangible tangible.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning …” his hand leaves the curve of your jaw to touch his fingertips to your temple, pressing, rendering a vision to your mind. And what Force magic was this? To make you see beyond your own eye’s sight. Foresight? An illusion? A vision? A memory? A promise or a deception?

Whatever it is, you see it so clearly – an uninhabited plant roaring with ocean as far as your eyeline can perceive. Waves lapping gently along grey-stoned shores. Moss-covered alcoves where you sit with him, your stranger, the sunset warming your skin as he caresses your face, your hair, whispering praises just beyond your mind’s own comprehension into your ear – the tone sinful, syrupy. His arms securing you in the night as you rest, no more dreams of abandonment.

Warmth, endless warmth… as his lips trail the shell of your ear, down your neck, bestowing belief of besotted brushes of lips. Adroit affection aimed right at the heart of you.

“Hmmm … meaning …. Your feelings, your power, your talent all working, to manifest toward something real. Something you want.” His hand leaves your temple and rests on your shoulder, taking advantage of your state of ponderment to gently guide you, ever mindful of the still-unlit lightsaber pressed to his stomach, leading away from your bed to the wall just next to the adjacent doorframe, the patient waltz of a waiting predator. He brings his hand to rest on the wall, next to your head.

“Something I want,” you reply dreamily, coming back to yourself just enough to realize what he’d said, exhaling through your nose in an indignant little huff. “In exchange for … ?”

“Tell me something,” he replies, lithely lilting around your question with one of his own, flexing his fingers where they rest on the wall. “Why are you no Jedi?”

“I … abjured,” you admit, a bit too primly, the lightsaber now feeling like an unbearable weight in your palm at your words, the weight of choices – both your own and those of whom purported to teach you. To guide you to something greater. Was it as he said? Were their promises so meaningless? “Broke my oath,” you suck your lower lip between your teeth, pausing before daring to meet his gaze again. “I couldn’t … suppress how they wanted me to. I didn’t want to fail anymore. I was so tired of failing. So, I … abjured. I was weak.”

Your eyes meet his once more at your admission, yours shining with unshed tears waiting to fall like stars. Shimmering promises to slip down your cheeks, unkept and unchecked. Your fingers fumbled, seemingly of their own accord, unwilling to hold the weight, the threat, of the saber against him any longer. The hilt clattered to the floor, a clanging finality to punctuate your words. And when was the last time you had been so honest, so vulnerable with another?

How … unlike you.

“Not weak,” he cups your cheeks with both hands, fine-boned thumbs tracing the peaks of your cheeks, as though to wipe away your unshed tears. “The same as me. Power searching for its other half. An unwaning, unflickering flame.”

Your unseen stranger, now seen, takes your hands in his, the buzz of the Force still tingling across your skin at his words, at the recognition of his power.

“You asked what I want. You want the same as me, and I the same as you. A companion . A partner. Unlike them, I won't judge you for your feelings. Won’t judge you for your power … You want – I can feel it rippling across your skin,” he closes his eyes, cocking his head, shivering as though to illustrate the point. “... Mmm, and I want, too. We can want together. If you'd let us.”

The flickering light of your room seemed to dim in tandem with his syrupy words, cloying and dripping like honey into golden nettle tea. The swirling honeytar of his eyes appraising you as the Force connection prickled with hazy heat between your bodies and the damnable musk of the jungle air.

You press yourself further into the wall he’d leaned you against, tilting your chin to appraise him in kind, searching for veracity in his words. Something more substantial than the “spun sugar” he’d accused the Jedi of weaving.

As though he could sense your trepidation before it could cross your face, he placed a hand on your hip, the contact searing you through the thin fabric of your tank top.

“They kicked you out because you feel. I'd never do that. I want you to feel … to feel power. To feel what you’re capable of. Of what it can become. Rage. Fear. Loss. Desire. Train with me, you’ll feel it all. I want you to feel it all … to feel me.”

Desire, he had spoken of. The gentle roll of his low voice over the syllables echoing perfectly in your ears. Desire, desire, desire. That desire, so like venom snaking its way through your blood, hot and purposeful. An all-consuming burn through your blood, befitting of a poisoner as he.

“You felt it, didn’t you? When I came in,” he iterates, somewhere south of a plea. “All. That. Power.” The hand not resting on your hip comes to cup your face once more. “I can teach you.”

You had read somewhere once, in the Archives, about creatures on long-abandoned planets with the ability to draw their prey in through vanity. The flash of feathers. Or shiny scales. Big, baleful eyes, perhaps. Only to sink their teeth in once their intended had come too close.

You draw in a breath, searching his pleasing face for any sign of a tell. Of the flicker of eyes that would signify deception. Of hidden fangs beneath his beautiful, full lips. Of anything that would bely his true intentions behind your Force connection. You swept your eyes across broad, defined shoulders, down toned, muscled arms exposed through his sleeveless shift. A warriors’ weapon wrapped in a pleasing package, to be sure. But … with no discernable hint of false suggestion.

You shift your weight once more onto the balls of your feet, away from the wall and into him . Continuing your appraisal as you tilt your head, allowing the scent of his skin – the tang of sweat from the humid jungle air commingling with something sharp and clean – to wash over you.

You invade his space now, leaning into the hand that grips your hip and the other that cradles your head, boldly brushing your lips along his with the barest hint of touch, feeling his lips smile against yours.

You whisper, your lips silken against his, “Tell me, poisoner … You seduce me with lies, is that it? You wish for me to call you Master? Forsake all else to worship at your altar?”

You catch the flash in his eyes as the word “seduce” leaves your lips.

“I haven't lied to you,” his voice is a hum. An attempt to provide reassurance as he couples them with what he hopes is a comforting gesture. His fingers travel from your hip to trail your ribs, a partial embrace.

“Do you consider not telling the entire truth to be a lie?”

“Have I shown you any lies? No. Just dreams. The promise of what could be. What I –,” he pauses, “– we could be. I cannot fabricate the Force, little warrior. Everything you feel tonight is you . It’s me. What more could you want? ”

Your once-steely resolve is crumbling under the weight of his insinuation … "everything you feel tonight” – the honey in his words sweet to your ears, you wonder fleetingly if he'd be even sweeter on your tongue.

And he knew you, didn’t he? By his own admission, he’d seen your faults and flaws for months … your desires. And he had shown you promises, premonitions, predilections… a future of power. And if there is power in two hemispheres – one of sweltering heat, one of blistering ice. Which were you? And which was he?

Together you would surely melt…

“No more rules, little warrior,” he sighs, “just the power of two.” He slides his lips across yours, purposeful, before capturing your lower lip between his teeth, nipping once before releasing, admiring the way your expression flickered from defiance to desire before surging forward, pressing you back into the wall as his lips capture yours.

He swallows your gasp, bringing his fingers to wrap loosely around your neck while his other hand slips beneath the hem of your shirt.

You break from his kiss with a gasp between swollen, bitten lips. But he gives you no reprieve, his lips trailing to your neck, where he sets about pressing hot-mouthed kisses. Molten lava flooding the column of your throat, chased with the scrape of nipping teeth. Soothe and scrape. Push and pull. Give, give, give, take.

You thread your fingers through the silken hair tucked behind his ears, tugging him from his ministrations on your neck and forcing him to meet your eyes – to see if the blaze of want you felt scorching your skin was reflected in the liquid coal, ready to ignite.

His lips twist into a smirk at your insistent tugging; if he was at all surprised, he didn’t show it. His face the perfect picture of pleasure.

“What would we do with it?” You inquire, “This power?”

“Hmmm,” he pretended to ponder, suddenly scooping you, a brief lift as he crossed the short distance to your bed, seating himself with you on his lap. No concession of dominance; merely placing you precisely where he means to. To allow you to feel him beneath you.

“What would you like to do, little warrior, hm?” His fingers flicked the thin straps of your flimsy sleep shirt, exposing your shoulders, leaning forward to trail his lips along the now-bared expanse of your shoulder, your collar bones, your neck, his eyes glancing up to watch your face as he went. “Make them pay? Take what’s yours?”

His hands feel their way down your form, down your sides, along your hips, the skin of his palms rasping against the smooth expanse of your thighs has his fine-boned fingers make their way beneath the loose fabric of the cropped pants you sleep in, dangerously close to the precipice of your desire , urging you to move. Guiding your hips in a rhythmic glide in his lap.

You gasp at his attentions, at the combination of his promises and the heady feel of his skin along yours, bringing your hands to grip his biceps – desperately seeking a way to anchor yourself.

And if it’s his poison that will bring you to the edge, would you regret it? You were starting to believe you could never regret him , not at the feel of his chest pressed against yours, the toned muscle beneath your fingers. His sharp angles caressing your soft curves, replacing the lonely ache in your bones with the lovely heat of him, both his promises and his attentions.

His mouth was keyed and intentional in its work of you, with pressed kisses like flower petals blooming along the skin of your neck, followed by the scraping thorns of his teeth. Brutish and beautiful, as his fine-boned fingers crept to the inside of your thighs, rubbing along your clothed center, intensifying the ache you felt. He shifts your weight in his lap, causing your legs to spread wider, straddling him lowly as he tugs the offending fabric aside, guiding your hips into a roll over his clothed lap and his growing hardness. Manifesting his delight at the choked gasp you emitted in the form of a teasing little buck of his hips, guiding you down as he guided himself up, delighting in the sharp gasps that met his ears as he continues to sway you to his rhythm.

“Desire isn't a sin, little warrior,” he breathes the words into your mouth, lips a hairs’ breadth apart, the better to swallow your moans. “What we feel feeds our connection to the Force, gives you strength ... If you know how. Let me show you. Touch me.”

It was as though electricity was crackling, popping beneath your fingertips as you took his instruction and began to explore the expanse of his body, slipping your hands beneath his tunic to feel the silken heat of his firm torso, the ache within you mounting at the heady combination of the feel of his skin beneath your fingertips – so long since you’d touched another, been touched – and his hardness between the cleft of your thighs. Smoldering, low-heat burned along your skin and beneath your fingertips. Or was it his fingers that were doing the burning? It was hard to tell where he ended and you began, one arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you bodily into him, an infinite loop of power and pleasure.

As you continue to touch him, you could feel it – his connection to the force, strong, volatile, like lightning striking the ocean – crackling and formidable like the man who contained it.

And Qimir – you had long since given up trying to determine if it was, in fact, his real name – rewards you with a gift of his own, the velvet rumble of a groan of pleasure emanating from his throat at your touch. A sound of syrup and satisfaction.

Pleased that you could garner such a reaction from a being as powerful as he, you smile, boldly meeting his lips with a kiss, opening your mouth with a gasp, allowing him to slip his tongue into your mouth, to taste the zip of power that he had determined in his moths of observation was just you, a torrent of citrus drizzle, bold and sweet.

Reluctantly, he parts his lips from yours, ducking his head to tug the straps of your top down with his teeth, exposing your breasts to the heated air of the room. And if your desire at the repeated rolling of his hips beneath yours wasn’t enough to do you in, you figured this might. Bathing in the celestial feel the press his lips to your nipple, tongue swirling over the peaking flesh. Pleased at the goosebumps that erupt now in the wake of his attention.

While he continues to tease your breasts with tongue and teeth, Qimir guides his other hand along your thighs, slipping his practiced fingers beneath your shorts, delighting in the wetness he was met with, basking in the jolting shiver the motion elicited from you, at the friction of his fingers rubbing along the seam of you – causing you to wiggle, to roll your hips into his touch.

And oh, as he slips his fingers inside of you, your eyes roll back, tilting your head to allow Qimir to admire the curving, elegant slope of exposed throat – prey before a predator, gasping at the pleasure he wrought. Breathless. If you thought he was teasing you before, his fingers inside of you were their own type of mocking punishment, well aware of his effect on you and the way your cunt throbs as he strokes inside of you. You could do nothing but wriggle your hips, whimpering piteously and attempting to roll your hips to follow his fingers as they work you, as this crescendo builds.

“Say you’ll be mine, warrior, and you can have it.” he promises. A new oath. One you’d never forsake. For him, you’d never turn, never abjure. Not so long as his touch made stars erupt behind your eyes, not so long as his lips dripped syrup promises down your throat.

Kissing you once more, golden and slow, molten and revelatory as he works his fingers inside of you, your thighs parting to accommodate him. His thumb rolls repeated brushes over your clit, delighting in the starshine burst as you reached your peak, a broken little moan that sounded suspiciously like the word “master,” passing your lips in a keening sigh.

You regard him through bleary, closing eyes and the warm, citrus haze of your orgasm as he slips his fingers from you, guiding you down to recline in your bed, stroking your hair as he does so, lulling you as a lover would.

“Sleep, warrior,” his velvet voice meets your ears, lyrical and lilting. “I’ll be back for you.”

And like each night before that one, his figure slips from you… as though he was never there. It wasn’t a dream, was it? It was hard to tell after months of this teasing game. After his promises built so much only to guide you to this release.

And in the silvery light of the jungle’s dawn, you awoke with that very question on your lips, met with the sight of your saber placed gently on your little bedside table as opposed to its usual hiding spot. You wake to the sweet afterache of something between your thighs, to the scraped marks of teeth along the expanse of your neck.

And to the promise of something – of a future of power and partnership. If only you’d be so bold as to accept it. As you eyed the saber, you recalled the prickle of his Force power along your skin, increasing with his proximity. And by the time he arrived to meet you again, you knew what your answer would be …

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